


Message

by antheiasilva



Series: Emotional one-shots [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Family Feels, Gen, Guilt, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Hurt/Comfort, I wanted to see Qui-Gon comfort Obi-Wan after Order 66 and Anakin's fall, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan unravels, Plot What Plot, Post-Order 66, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Qui-Gon is unwavering, force metaphors, lineage feels, so I wrote it, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 09:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17722439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antheiasilva/pseuds/antheiasilva
Summary: In exile on Tatooine, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon receive a haunting message from Anakin:“Master, I’m sorry. Master, don’t leave me here. Master, forgive me. Master, I forgive you.”Can they believe him?





	Message

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, thanks to the intrepid LuvEwan for her endless enthusiasm and keen eye!

When the message comes through on an encrypted channel, Obi-Wan’s heart breaks for a second time since the world ended.

“Master, I’m sorry. Master, don’t leave me here. Master, forgive me. Master, _I forgive you_.”

His voice, his face, are on the surface unrecognizable, but underneath Obi-Wan hears _Anakin_ , not Vader. He hears nine year old Anakin apologizing for his tears. He hears fifteen year old Anakin begging to join him on a mission. He hears twenty two year old Anakin regretting a bitter outburst. 

He sees Anakin’s face contorted in rage.  
_I hate you._

“Master, I forgive you.”

He rewinds and plays it again. And again.

And again.

And again.

“Enough, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon’s hand is heavy on his shoulder. His tone carries an edge of censure that Obi-Wan remembers from his Padawan days. _Enough practice, Obi-Wan, you’re tired. Enough meditating, Obi-Wan, you’ve learned. Enough apologizing, Obi-Wan, you have made amends._

“Enough torturing yourself. There’s nothing you can do,” Qui-Gon says, firmly, his voice kind and sorrowful and _resigned_.

Obi-Wan’s anger flares to life like desert brush catching fire in the sun and wind, a sudden and devastating combustion. “You don’t know that,” he snaps, slamming his hand down on the table as he whirls to face Qui-Gon in the cramped, dusty shadows of their desert hovel where they have been lingering for months. 

“He made his choice.” Qui-Gon’s blue-grey eyes are unflinching in the face of Obi-Wan’s anger, which is rising, unfurling in the Force like smoke.

“This is Palpatine’s fault. I can’t leave him to that monster,” he grinds out between gritted teeth. “I won’t,” he says, lower, quieter, daring. 

“He chose Palpatine, Obi-Wan. He _chose_.” Qui-Gon reaches for Obi-Wan’s hand, but he wrenches away.

“He didn’t choose,” Obi-Wan spits. “What choice did he have? Palpatine used the Dark Side to cloud his judgement, to confuse him, to deceive him.” He has to believe this is true. He _has_ to. Some part of him even does.

“We were all deceived, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon’s tone is measured, calm. He doesn’t say ‘we have been through this before.’ He doesn’t need to. 

Obi-Wan draws in a sharp breath, and vibrates, fists clenched. He is seething. The smoke billows. He wants to break something, but there is nothing they can spare and he is still a Jedi. 

How has this become their life? Endless days of unforgiving heat and relentless sand. Waiting and watching. He longs to move, to do _something_ to fix their universe so cruelly twisted out of shape. The message is a seductive song of hope, a haunting scrap of ‘maybe.’ Anakin was more powerful than any of them. _Together_ maybe they could beat Sidious where even had Yoda failed.

“If he can be turned...” Obi-Wan starts, gripping Qui-Gon’s biceps and staring at him wide-eyed.

Qui-Gon reaches up, brushes his hand against Obi-Wan’s cheek, smoothing the ginger hairs of his beard with his thumb. The sorrow in his eyes is familiar, a constant, dutiful companion in their exile. “He killed children, Obi-Wan. He murdered children,” Qui-Gon says softly.

Obi-Wan blinks. The words fall empty between them. He cannot comprehend what Qui-Gon is saying, even though he knows the truth of Qui-Gon’s words: he has seen the security recordings. He has seen the bodies. But he cannot _make sense_ of any of it. It’s as if Qui-Gon is speaking to someone else, in some dismal dimension where his padawan is a monster.

The recording plays in Obi-Wan’s head. “Master, don’t leave me here. Master, he is hurting me. He _made_ me.”

The impulse to go to him is blinding. He wants to steal a starfighter and sneak aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer. Find him. Fold him in his cloak like he’s a child again and take him from the darkness and blood. He sees nine year old Anakin in his mind’s eye, singed clothes, red on his hands and cheeks. He is crying, sobbing, reaching, while Palpatine hovers behind him, slowly enveloping him in his black robes. 

He can’t leave him there.  
He can’t.  
Why is Qui-Gon so kriffing _calm_?  
Can’t he _see_? Anakin needs them, needs _him_.  
He’s his Master. It’s his responsibility.  
He took an oath to protect him. He can’t leave him there.  
It’s his fault.  
It’s his fault.  
It’s his fault.  
He never should have let Palpatine near him.  
He should have been kinder, wiser, closer.  
He should have tried _harder_.  
Instead he fought him. HE FOUGHT HIM.  
He cut off his hand and legs and _left him there_ , screaming in agony and burning.  
He can’t let him burn.  
He can’t.  
He has to stop…  
He has to save…  
He can save him.  
He has to try. He has to...  
He has to...  
He has to... 

He chokes on his breath, crumples to the floor as his legs give way, hears Qui-Gon cry out. His master is there, solid and unwavering, catching him by the elbows to soften his fall against the unyielding rock. Qui-Gon enfolds him in his arms, strokes his hair, kisses still-dry eyes, rocks him back and forth. He becomes dimly aware that his throat hurts. He has been screaming.

“I am so sorry, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon murmurs into his hair. “You cannot go. No matter how much you want to. If you are lucky, he will kill you. Most likely, he will torture you, until you join him. If you go.”

Obi-Wan presses his face against Qui-Gon’s shoulder, inhaling sweat and salt and the sour metallic tang of their moisture vaporator. His tunics are rough and gritty against the bare part of his cheek.

Qui-Gon gently gathers him against his broad chest and leans them back against the stone wall. His breath is a low rumbling sound that Obi-Wan can feel deep in his breast, where his heart is cracking open wider and wider.

“He is lost, Padawan. You cannot save him,” Qui-Gon whispers. 

“But I left him there. I left him. I cut off his limbs and I left him there,” Obi-Wan gasps. “There has to be _something_ I can do.” 

He still cannot think about Mustafar without pain twisting through his insides. It steals his breath and blurs his vision.

Sometimes he thinks the guilt will kill him. 

“I know, Obi-Wan. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. My dear Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon’s voice is tight and his eyes bright with tears.

“He forgives me, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan whispers. He feels his eyes well with tears that have been locked away for months and months.

“It’s a lie, Obi-Wan. It’s a trick. Bait. He wants to hurt you.” Qui-Gon swallows thickly and when he speaks again, his voice trembles. “He tried to kill you.” 

He knows the devastation in Qui-Gon's eyes too well, has heard him weep for how close, how close he came to losing Obi-Wan on that Sith-damned volcano.

“He said he’s sorry. He’s _sorry_ ,” Obi-Wan sobs, and the dam inside him breaks like worn duracrete and rusted iron in the rush of a spring flood. He chokes, heaving through his tears. He buries his face in the crook of Qui-Gon's arm. He would be washed away, except--

“Oh, Obi-Wan. Even if he is, you cannot risk it.” Qui-Gon tightens his grip, fingers digging into his hip and shoulder.

“It’s my life, Qui-Gon,” he insists. “You don't… you can’t...understand.”

Around him, he feels Qui-Gon start and then still. Silence falls over their tiny refuge. 

“Don't I?” Qui-Gon says, soft and low. “I saw the boy I loved, the boy I raised, distorted by anger and fear and greed. Seduced into senseless violence, and cruelty. Deformed past recognition. I felt his hate and his desire for revenge. He tried to kill me. He failed, and yet part of me died with him.” Qui-Gon breaths out, pauses. “And would have withered the rest of me, if not for you.” He strokes Obi-Wan's cheek lightly and tilts his face upwards. They lock eyes.

Where Obi-Wan is smoke and storm clouds in the Force, Qui-Gon is wan, winter sunlight of a cold and clear dawn. Obi-Wan breathes in and waits for the light to touch him again.

“If you go, he will find them,” Qui-Gon says. He presses his fingers to Obi-Wan’s temple and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, my padawan, but you have to see.” 

_Owen and Beru dismembered, the house on fire, Luke, a tiny pale bundle against Vader’s chest._  
_Bail and Breha choked to death, the palace in ruins, Leia clutched in Vader’s arms._  
_Two sets of yellow eyes, empty and cruel, stare out from twin toddlers._

“If the Jedi can foster the Light in infants, the Sith can foster the Dark. You would confine them to Darkness, all of their days, and the galaxy would burn for it.”

Obi-Wan looks down at his hands, twined in the folds of Qui-Gon’s tunic. He knows, but still he speaks in disbelief. “He is their father.”

“Yes, and he would believe he owns them. Like Padme. Like you. He will turn them. Or he will kill them. There is no other way.”

_Why do I get the feeling that someday you’ll be the death of me?_  
_Don’t say that, master. You’re the closest thing I have to a father._

“He is their father,” he repeats, voice hollow. “He loves them. He must. How could he...?”

“ He loved Padme, Obi-Wan. He loved _you _.”__

__Did he? Obi-Wan doesn't know any more. “She believed...She sensed...Good in him.”_ _

__“None was more deceived than Padme, Obi-Wan. She loved him til her dying breath.” A pause. “And it killed her. He killed her.”_ _

__Obi-Wan looks up again and meets Qui-Gon's eyes. Truth, the same heavy, galaxy-breaking, time-bending truth that has sunk into him over and over and over and cannot seem to _stay_ , sinks into him once more and this time settles within him like sediment, anchoring him to the earth._ _

__“Yoda should have sent you. You would have killed him. The galaxy would be safer. And at least then, he would not be suffering.”_ _

__“It is done, Obi-Wan. You cannot change the past.”_ _

_I have failed you, Anakin_. Even in death. “I couldn’t…I told Yoda. I couldn't.” He hears a sob escape him. 

__“I know.”_ _

__“It’s my fault.”_ _

__“No, Obi-Wan.”_ _

__“He forgives me.”_ _

__“Perhaps. Still, you cannot go. I cannot let you.”_ _

__Obi-Wan closes his eyes, inhales the scent of Qui-Gon and earth. “For Leia. And Luke.”_ _

__A flicker of relief in the force. “Yes.” Qui-Gon sighs, wind dispelling smoke. Storm and fire have quieted._ _

__The air seems to settle, laying down its charge, and the crackle of electricity falls silent, making way for mundane sounds of dusk: the familiar whistling, humming, chirping ensemble of machinery, wind and life. Even here, at the edge of the world._ _

__“Qui-Gon?”_ _

__“Yes, Obi-Wan?”_ _

__“I still love him.” He breathes the words out, barely a whisper. It hurts, oh it hurts._ _

__“I know.” Qui-Gon’s voice is sad. “I do too.” The thump of his heartbeat is faintly audible, a quiet metronome until Obi-Wan’s heart can find a rhythm of its own._ _

__“He forgives me.” Even to himself, Obi-Wan’s words are both statement and prayer._ _

__“Someday, my love, ” Qui-Gon says, kissing his damp temple where the grey that appeared years ago has begun to spread, “perhaps you will forgive yourself.”_ _

__Across the dunes, Luke’s cries hush as Beru rocks him and hums the tune of an ancient lullaby, words long forgotten, eroded by memory and time._ _


End file.
